


Tasteful

by CarnemDevorare



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom, Eyeless Jack - Fandom
Genre: 2nd Person, Blood and Gore, Creepypasta, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/M, Forced Cannibalism, He mellows out in time, I'm warning you I get graphic, Jack isn't very nice, Non-con/Violence, Slow Burn, Some Non-con/Rape elements, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22697794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarnemDevorare/pseuds/CarnemDevorare
Summary: You cannot wash this blood off your hands anymore. You cannot hide anymore.You must find a new life and leave behind this old one.(Actively changing tags)
Relationships: Eyeless Jack/Reader
Comments: 23
Kudos: 108





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> It has been a very long time since I've done this, but Creepypasta is still a burning obsession of mine. I hope you enjoy and I plan to continue.

As far as you could remember you had been walking. Well, hiking for hours on end. Hiking deeper and deeper into this endless woodland by the hour. Yet you could not see or, if in any case, smell your destination. Maybe at least any hint that this walk could end soon. 

Your legs were quivering from the continuous work it was made to endure. But you were always one to push far beyond your own limits and boundaries. 

That's what led you here in the first place right?

It helped none that all of your belongings you could possibly carry on foot was strapped tightly to your back, weighing you down more than you really realized. 

Your approach wasn't the quietest either, footsteps met with the crushing of twigs and leaves. Certainly, you thought, someone here must have heard you by now. Despite the absolute desolate feel to this vast forest. You knew you or anyone else who ever entered this place was not alone. 

There were several hidden locations your source informed you about, but you were only safe in one of these locations. Should you find the wrong place you were warned to be met with aggression and hostility. 

You knew this just meant whomever else may find you would mean your own death. 

For the past God knows how long you had been watching your feet as you walked. Careful of the unfamiliar and untraveled terrain in your wake. When you tilted your head up toward the dusk sky you noticed a plume of smoke wafting along with the breeze, eclipsing the sunset. 

If the directions you followed were correct. This was the cabin. An old late century built cabin that had been repurposed as a home/facility for expecting clients and residence. 

Out here in the middle of the largest forest you've ever stepped foot in? Sure sounds like a place people want to go. But with what little knowledge you had, you knew there was a very secret and very hidden society of "people" that called these woods home. 

The least you could do was respect that. 

At many times you had grown so tired of walking you considered turning back to the city and turning yourself in. Even if you knew nothing was your fault, it still would have been the end of free life as you knew it. 

The alternative was much better than life in asylum or prison for that matter. 

The smoke that rose from the chimney in the distance was your saving grace. As soon as you confirmed that it indeed was the cabin you were looking for you picked up the pace. Even while your feet screamed in protest you kept moving. 

You pant heavily like a canine as you march up the cobblestone steps and to the wooden door. You hesitate for a long moment, pausing to scan the cabin..

The windows were boarded up with plank wood and a hasty nailing job. You could not peer inside from any angle of the cabin, even the upper floor windows were boarded up. The cabin itself smelled of wet, old wood and was swallowed in hundreds of vines. 

Despite its dead look, the chimney still coughed out dark smoke from a fire source. 

Swallowing the lump of saliva that began to build up in your throat, you rattled on the old copper door knocker. Three loud knocks of metal against wood. 

A dull crash was heard from the other end followed by cursing you couldn't quite make out. It was a male's voice, you hoped it was who you were hoping for. With both hands, you grasped your bag straps tightly, anxious. 

The door creaked open loudly then abruptly stopped at the length of the small golden chain that separated you from the other figure. 

You were met with very familiar blue eyes and your heart swelled with relief. 

"Timothy!" You breathed excitedly. 

The door shut quickly and the sound of many locks being released almost made you giggle. 

Then finally the door opened wide revealing your dear and close companion Timothy.  
He was out of the typical uniform of his orange vest and what you called his "Murder mask". He wore only his black sweater and jeans. 

He shot you a toothy grin and enveloped you in a warm hug. You dropped your heavy bag, making a loud thud on the wooden deck, and returned his hug. 

"So glad you made it okay (Y/N)" He patted your shoulder and motioned you to enter the dust palace. 

You coughed some as you entered the old house, dragging your heavy bag behind you. Immediately the front door entered into a kitchen place, a staircase and to the right led into an open living room. 

"Well damn Timothy, this place needs some TLC doesn't it?" 

He chuckled and rubbed his neck awkwardly. "Well... I don't actually live here myself. But for now, this place is all yours." 

You threw your bag onto the pale wooden table in the center and walked around slowly about the kitchen, dragging your thumb along the counter and collecting a good wad of dust in the process. 

"Does it have electricity?" You asked as you patted the dust off on your jeans. 

Timothy nodded. "Yeah, we had it installed a couple of years back when Jack was running the place as a little 'cannibal cafe'." He added air quotes. 

You never questioned about Timothy's friends, you knew better than to really involve yourself. You knew they were dangerous. 

"I'm staying here till you get yourself comfortable and set up." He told you as he walked over to the living room and threw himself on the couch, surprisingly not as dust-covered as the rest of the place. You heard the sound of static for a moment before hearing a muffled voice. 

"See! Even got a TV with a couple of channels out here." It sounded like a news broadcast. It was a more modern television screen above the smoldering fireplace. At least you could have some form of entertainment. That and the huge amounts of cleaning you're going to have to do. 

You gazed up at the chandelier above your head, in between the kitchen and living room. Some of its bulbs were blackened. The ceiling above you was beginning to give out. As you took in more details you dreaded the fact that you were the only one who had the patience to clean it up.  
Cobwebs inhabited corners and spaces about the rooms, cobwebs that were long vacant and covered in a thick wrapping of dust as well. 

"Mind if I take a look around?" You questioned as you rounded the staircase and past Timothy in the living room.

"Go ahead it's your place for now." 

'For now'. You knew not to make yourself too comfortable. He had explained that the actual owner of the cabin was away on a project with the group. 

You knew that meant hunting. That was really the only job of Timothy and his friends that you knew of would do. Hunt. Whether it be human or not you weren't sure. 

It was still gracious of them to allow you to live peacefully for a while. Just until the media was to believe you were dead. 

In the back of the house was a small filthy bathroom with a small shower. The tiles were grimy and had years of muck caked on. You just hoped the toilet worked at least. To the left of the bathroom was what you assumed to be a guest bedroom. A metal-framed bunk bed with books and debris covering its bottom mattress. 

You took note of the stuffed shelves that lined the walls of the small room, books and even more books. 

You circled back through the kitchen and decided to have a look upstairs. The steps creaked noisily with each step. Up till the very top. There were only two doors across from each other upstairs.

The first door was another bedroom. A very out of place, tidy, clean bedroom. The gray queen-sized bed was made. There was an open walk-in closet with some articles of clothing hung up. 

Another bookshelf next to the bed and a floor lamp. Very simple room. You noticed that this was probably where the owner slept. Unfortunately for them, you were in no mood to clean the mess of the guestroom or sleep on a moldy couch while this room was perfectly untouched by filth. 

The bathroom was just like the rest of the upper floor, clean. Full bathtub and shower. Another closet that you've noticed is filled with medical supplies/ first aid and various labeled pill bottles. That is definitely a comfort to have. 

Closing the closet you decided to head downstairs and unpack some. 

Timothy still lounged back with his legs crossed on the couch, flipping through channels most of which were static or color bar. 

Back in the kitchen where your bag was plopped haphazardly on the table, you got curious about the white old fashioned refrigerator.  
As you approached the fridge and grasped the rusted metal handle you instantly noticed it was stuck.

You heard Timothy lift himself out of his seat. You gave the handle another rough pull of your arm. Still stuck. 

"Ah shit. (Y/N) I forgot-"

With one more big pull it finally gives away at your force and opens wide.  
The first thing that hit you was the smell. Then you registered the contents, covering your mouth.  
Jars. Just large mason jars filled with what looked like organs in aging formaldehyde. 

Slamming the fridge shut you gagged loudly. You looked up to see Timothy grimace. "Yeah.. Uh, I forgot to clean out the fridge for you." 

"What..." You gasped and swallowed air like a bass out of water, "What the fuck, dude."

He calmly walked around the table and searched through a couple of cupboards before pulling out a large black trash bag out of a wad of them. 

You stand faced away from the fridge, crouched with your hands on your knees fighting back the urge to blow chunks. 

The clanking of glass followed by muttered curses is heard behind you. He's disposing of the contents as quickly as he can manage.

"Timothy I don't even want to know what's in the icebox." You groan finally meeting your balance again. 

"Y-yup I'll take care of that too." 

You still have to cover your nose and mouth to protect against the stench. More clanking and rustling of the plastic bag is heard before he slings the loaded trash bag behind him. 

"(Y/N) I'm taking this out back." He shouted over his shoulder.

You remember the small bottle of perfume you had packed away along with your personal hygiene utensils. 

Unzipping the travel bag you start to pull out random contents onto the table. Small sealed backs of clothing. A small purse carrying said hygiene utensils. Your cellphone with its charger and headphones along with a small laptop. Some items of food such as chips and a couple of apples. And finally, one large hunting knife.

There were other things you wish you would of packed, but at that fleeting moment, you had to get essentials as quickly as possible. Racing against the clock when the sirens grew louder. 

But now that you were here you couldn't help but feel deep relief. Even with the dreadful items that were probably hidden around this place. You were in no danger. 

A door slam signaled Timothy was back inside, he patted his hands on his pants and made his way towards you.  
"Making messes already?" 

You scoffed at his comment and uncapped a white bottle of vanilla-scented perfume. You shook your head and doused yourself in a mist of the smell. It would be no use spraying it into the air, it would only mix with the stench that remained. 

He wrinkled his nose and coughed. "Ugh... I'd rather be smelling the inside of Jack's mask than that."  
Obviously, that would be a lie because you could not imagine the smell of a cannibals mask after getting a good waft of his fridge contents. 

You couldn't even wrap your head around the fact that Timothy seemed so tolerant to the smell as if that was possible. 

As you scattered your belongings about the house in comfortable places, mostly the upper floor, you began to hear ringing entering into the living room. 

There Timothy stood in front of the television, pulling out a small silver burner phone and pressed it to his ear causing the ringing to stop.

"There's a signal out here?" You disrupted, he quickly motioned you to be quiet with his hand. 

"Operator?" He said calmly. You could hear no voice on the other end but he responded anyway. 

"I'll be right there sir."

Tilting your head you frowned at him. "To answer your question (Y/N), no, there is no signal or WiFi out here." He clicked his phone shut and put it back in his pocket. "However, we all have to communicate with each other somehow."  
He escorted you back into the kitchen and showed you a landline phone by the refrigerator. Picking up the phone he handed it to you, you observed the dull hum of the dial tone on the other end. 

"Only calls it can make and to and from the other houses in the forest. Just hold the '0' until you reach the operator tone. One of us will always pick up." 

You looked at the old blue phone on the wire connecting to the answering machine then back at him, still swarmed with confusion. 

He seemed to be in a hurry to explain this to you. Quickly he moved to the staircase closet and pulled out his orange jacket. "Look, I really have to go take care of something important." 

He proceeded to lace up his boots and fasten his white mask to his face, time for work. You set the phone down on its dock and began to feel anxious. 

He glanced at you through his mask, zipping up his jacket and starting for the door. 

"Please don't worry (Y/N), I'll be back before sunrise. I promise"


	2. Unsettled

The only channels that had a stable signal were three news broadcast networks, a foreign cartoon, and what looked like a program for Jerry Springer. That program you frequently visited. 

You thoroughly enjoyed watching the lives of people fall apart in front of an audience. Although many episodes were reruns, you were still able to laugh at the various tales of ridiculousness. It was like observing zoo animals.

' I can't find my baby's daddy '

' My girlfriend is a man' 

And the typical, always cheating spouses. Is this really what everyone worries about?  
Is this all that happens in urban civilian life? The every day public. 

Sometimes the most human of things seemed so unfamiliar to you. But watching lives fall apart was the piece of reality you could grasp. You watched people unravel into nothing in front of your eyes, and you have been the cause of the unfolding of lives. 

\---

For the past two to three hours you had never felt the grip of torpor behind your eyes. Even as the night could only seem to get blacker. If that at all was possible.  
You had been cleaning and scrubbing down the place labouriously until you could feel comfortable to call it home. Or make it somewhat homey in its decrepit state.  
Luckily there was an abundance of bleach and some other cleaning chemicals stored underneath the kitchen sink, as well as metal pales and empty containers. 

All this material to clean with and still the house was as dirty as it was. Either the owner was neglectful or really didn't occupy the space as often as he should. 

You began in the kitchen. Soaking a stained white rag in a mix of bleach and warm water to scrub the counters and table.  
You opened the fridge, the pungent smell still lingering. And scrubbed every inch you could reach till the bleach water took on a brownish color. 

Several times you wrang out the cloth and resoaked it. 

You even spent an hour on your hands and knees crawling about the kitchen tiles cleansing them as best you could.  
By now your arms were tired and ached deeply from the consecutive movements, but you still needed to at least get the livingroom until you could take a break. 

You searched about the cabin in storage places until you came across an old woven straw broom in the under staircase closet.  
It scratched against the hardwood floor as you swept through the living room floor and underneath the canvas couch, leaving the front and back doors open while you swept the dust and dirt outside, abrading the floor.

After the filth from the floor was somewhat gone you decided it was best to shake out the old couch cushions to save your lungs and sinuses from congestion and potential ailments.  
They weighed heavily like sacks of potatoes. You could only carry them one at a time to the back door so that its clouds of detritus won't flow back into the cabin. 

Coughing hoarsely, you beat out the dust of each cushion with your fist under the dim light of a lamp fastened above the back door. Grey clouds of debris plumed off the cushion into the breeze.  
The light of the lantern only reached a few feet forward before it reached a boarder of blackness. The night was so dark you could only see past the first couple of trees within 10 feet of you. This place was dangerous to walk alone in, in the dark. It began to make sense as to why so many people have gone missing. 

Granted this woodland is notorious for being a site of missing persons, found unidentified bodies. But albeit there have never been reports of a cabin or a mansion. In fact, this place was deemed completely uninhabited for miles and miles through the stretch of intact, untouched nature.

Continuing to beat out the last couple of cushions, a gleam of light caught your eyes, something metal. Squinting in the dark you noticed the metal lock handle upon a cellar door.  
So there was a basement. There was still much more to this place to be discovered.  
Going down into a cellar wasn't a wise idea when it's this pitch black outside. It didn't feel safe exiting the rim of light. The only light out here.  
And on the other hand, you couldn't imagine what might be inside. 

Long after there could be no more dust to beat out of the cushions you began to drag them into aa heap in the living room before arranging them back on the couch. 

You closed and locked both doors before returning back to the couch, although the canvas cushions where a rough texture, the couch was still comfortable enough to lay on, your body sank gradually into it. 

This cabin actually had a hidden vintage beauty to it. If it had been maintained better over the years it could have much more potential to it. 

The wine-colored wallpaper and the dark oak paneling were your favorite features of the living room. Black velvet curtains covered the hideous plank boarding on the windows.  
But one couldn't help but wonder how beautiful the view of the forest must be if the windows were opened. 

Some natural lighting would be nice too. It was still a long while before sunrise.  
You hoped Timothy would keep his promise and return shortly. You grew so restless from waiting. 

At some point Jerry and Maury grew a bit bland, you decided to indulge yourself in the plethora of reading material in the guest room. 

The smell of books is a scent you believe everyone loves, even to people who don't read often. 

After skimming some pages of various hardcover books you noticed they all tied together in a medical genre.  
An entire study of the lungs printed onto an inch and a half thick textbook was one of the first you skimmed through.  
A couple of diagram studies on the renal system, you've noticed this especially being a common subject in many of the books.  
Even some pages included personal annotations scribbled out in black ink. You believed the majority of these textbooks.

The abundance of medical books was discerning but in ways, it could be helpful.  
There was a detailed inscription of dissection, which was disturbing but given the residence, you should expect grotesque.  
Animal skinning and carcass dressing. This could especially be helpful when the need to hunt for food in the forest. You had intermediate knowledge and skill when it came to hunting deer or squirrels. You just needed proper gear.  
Easy surgeries to perform on yourself. Some of the pages were stained a deep brown color, old blood. Obviously this book has been used many times.  
A pharmaceutical list of drugs and purposes. Great for emergencies. 

It was evident enough that there was no trace of fiction amongst the hundreds of medical copies. 

On the bottom of the shelves was an alignment of much larger black-covered books. When inspecting them you noticed the laminated pockets of album sheets.  
Photo books, now this was curious.

The first sets of photo sheets were blank, unfilled. But when flipping to the first sheet of pictures you noticed the monotone look. They were all taken with a black and white camera, although the quality of each picture was very sharp and detailed. 

The first image was a vintage convertible car, a deep black color car parked in front of a lone tree. There were no other features to this picture.  
The next image was a simple ranch house and an open cattle field under a sunset/sunrise. Some black cows grazing.  
Next, a water tower covered in graffiti, old and rusted with age.  
A small playground, empty, void of children or any sign of life.

The innocence of the pictures began to melt away, and the tightness in your chest indicated there was a much more sinister meaning at play. 

As you flipped through the surreal scenery images you began to take notice of sudden familiarity.  
There was an old picture of this very cabin, years past when it was almost au courant.  
A mansion. And giant, castle-esque gothic style mansion.  
You were familiar in its description giving that Timothy was there to explain its existence, its purpose, and its mysterious elusiveness. 

This forest was full of mysteries and curiosity was your only companion for the time being. Maybe some of your questions have answers in these books. 

After the first image of the mansion, the pictures that followed bonded together with the same theme. 

A few shots of a gothic style bedroom, following the same decore as the exterior from what could be seen in black and white. 

On another page was a massive lounge room with a long lush couch along the wall, and a crystal chandelier. 

The images were beautifully taken, but the lingering feeling of dread was behind each photograph. 

Then the images became more disturbing. Even under the cover of absent color, you could still recognize blood at the first sight of it. 

These were grotesque scenes of death. A mass grave. A slaughtered hospital ward. A field of grass filled with bodies aligned in a significant pattern.

approaching the last few pages of the photo album, one particular image made your whole body shudder.  
It was the cabin again, the living room. A family of four hacked to pieces. 

BANG BANG BANG

You almost jumped out of your skin at the sound.  
Three loud knocks, coming from the door. 

For a moment you breathed in relief. It was Timothy finally. He knocked always before letting himself inside so not to frighten you. 

The door was heard creaking open, and you followed the sound of it, rounding into the living room with excitement flowing through you. 

At you came into view of the door you acknowledge Timothy and his two guests. You stopped, unsure of what to do. He warned you to stay far away from his people. And now they were just feet away from you. 

"Hey (Y/N), " Timothy spoke calmly, his demeanor changed. "Go ahead and have a seat on the couch. We need to have a chat." 

The man to his left rested his red ax on the kitchen table, stretching his arms above his head and yawning behind his rebreather mask. You noticed a second ax strapped to his side, looped through a black belt. He ticced, his whole body jolting with a noticeable clicking sound from his mouth. 

You sat upright on the sofa, not taking your eyes of the two strangers as they unloaded their gear for the night. 

The second man was adorned in a bright orange hoodie and black gloves. His face was unseen as he had his back towards you. You noticed a gun holstered to his side.

The two of these men just looked like criminals. But who were you to judge, there was blood on your own hands. 

You couldn't control your legs from shaking in anticipation. You were expecting the worst of all scenarios.  
They circled back to the living room, taking with them three of the four kitchen table chairs and placing them in front of the couch. Timothy slowly reached for the TV remote and flipped off the television. 

They sat in front of you, Timothy directly in front of the TV. Your heart began to race as you finally came to full view of the people he brought with him. Timothy had not taken off his mask, this worried you even more. 

"I'd like you to meet my two partners." He began, gesturing first to the man in the orange hoodie. Seeing his face now, or lack thereof, you immediately drew your attention to the simple red-painted sad face on black. Black covers every inch of his skin as well underneath the hoodie from what you could see.  
"This is Brian."  
Then to his left, the man with yellow protective goggles and a rebreather. "And this is Tobias." 

"Toby." The man interrupted, ticcing two times. His voice distorted marginally by the mask. 

Timothy cleared his throat, irritation evident.  
He focused on the book beside you. You had forgotten about it completely, unknowingly carrying it with you as you came to greet him in the living room. 

"Do you like the pictures?"  
Nervously you chuckled, feeling as if you stepped some kind of boundary. 

"Yeah actually... The photographer knew what he was doing. They were taken nicely."  
Disregarding the images of deaths. 

Timothy laughed genuinely, "Good, Brian here takes all the pictures." He patted said partners shoulder.  
Brain said nothing, nor did he move.

Obvious that his attempt to lighten the mood has failed, his voice dropped again. 

"Something has come up, (Y/N). It turns out it wasn't possible to keep your existence here a secret... at all."

Your face paled, blood pooling at your fingertips. What the fuck was he talking about? 

"He knows you're here. And He is upset with me." 

You shook your head, trying to search for a glimpse of his eyes behind his white mask. 

"Who...?" you rasped. 

"Our boss." Timothy sighed. "Luckily, for you... I think we can settle a deal."

You hated every moment of this. 

"There are rules. Strict ones that you must follow, okay? These rules are for your own safety."

You frowned want to protest or even leave, but he had always been so serious, he never deceived you in all the years you had known him. You knew he didn't want you to ask questions, he was always one to explain everything.  
Right now you were questioning your own safety. You could only nod and wait for him to continue. 

"I've set up a meeting with him. But you have to follow this protocol for the time being. When I say, you are going to close your eyes and not open them." 

Okay now, this was really confusing.

"You are forbidden to look at his face when he arrives. If you open, even for a second, he will end your life quicker than your heart can beat twice." His voice grew harder, by now your whole body was shaking.  
Its been so long since you were truly afraid. 

"I care about you, (Y/N). I've pulled a lot of strings to get you here. All I need is your cooperation. Can I trust you?" 

You spoke weakly, anxiety absolutely pouring from your words. "Of course you can trust me, Timothy." 

"Do you trust me?" 

"Yes..."

"Good. Now before we begin, we need to document you."

Taking pictures is what you believed he meant. You couldn't deny the eating thought at the back of your head you might end up being in one of those graphic scenes in the photographs. 

Brian stood and shuffled quickly to the kitchen to grab a black polaroid camera.  
Coming back he stood before you, taking a moment to perfect his position of the camera.  
It clicked, a quick bright flash stinging your eyes for a moment. 

He nodded at you. Taking the photo that printed and waving it some before placing it in a small pocket on the side of the camera. 

He rested the camera gently down next to his chair before sitting down again. 

Timothy straightened his posture. "Now. close your eyes. And not be afraid. Nothing will happen as long as you keep your eyes closed and stay there. I'll tell you when it's over."

Tensed in fear you shook your head, trying to calm all your nerves as you closed your eyes. 

You have heard stories of who their boss was.  
A monster, a man of no identity. A man who was responsible for despicable atrocities over centuries.  
You had never believed these stories for some time before meeting Timothy.  
He revealed that nothing was ever as it seems. 

More and more you were starting to believe these bizarre tales. 

You could hear the television click on again, only replacing the stillness of the quiet room with loud static. 

For a few moments, you could only wonder what was happening. The TV static, closing your eyes? 

Your heart dropped when deja vu began to devour you. 

This was some kind of summoning ritual. A ritual Timothy showed you once before when the two of you were young. It hadn't worked as planned at that time but it still scared you to this day.

The static changed frequencies, intensifying in sound. 

You wanted to cover your ears from the white noise violating your eardrums.  
Then came the voices, the screeching echoes of voices coming together like a choir from hell.  
You felt everything around you quake. 

Timothy had taken the time to perfect this ritual. You could well assume he's done this many times. 

The choir of screeching came together finally to create one dark, low voice...

S̵͚͇̭̭͕̟͋̆̇ͅo̴͓̻̻͎̍̍ ̶̫͙̱̖̈t̵̢̲̔͝ḩ̵̹̳̥̍i̵̛̱̞̱͋̓̒s̷̭̯̀̄̓͊̇̒̏̄̓̒ ̵͙͉̞̄í̴̮̜͖̠̖̼̥͔͚̓̈̈̂̓͑̽̂́s̶̳͙͇̲͕̖̩̖̾͘ ̴̨̼̥̞̎͌̂́̏̕͜͠͠w̷̡̡͔̰̃̆̒̌̇̏́͛h̸̦̤͖̮͕̒̈́̅a̸̧͍̹͕̅̂̒̈͂̿̈t̶͉͈̦̥̯͉̽͌̓̔͑̂͝͠ ̸̢͎̫̘̩̘̙̍̃̏̒͛̏̂͋́͜y̸̧̼̣͚͍͍̬̙̰̑ŏ̵͉͓͓̩̮̲̃͆̓̔̐̍͘͠ư̶͎̞͓̩̗̰̊̅̈́̈̍̈̅̈́̓ ̴̻̯̜̻͍͎̠̭̥͚̇̀̽̎̆͆h̶̛͉̭̍̍̊̏̾̏̕å̸̧̡̯͎̯̗͒͒̐͂͌͊̚v̵̨̫̙̬̻͕͌̓̂͐̍̇̈́͝ë̴̱́̃͌̎ ̷̢̛̭̼̲͔̣͖̜͙̇̈́̈͝b̴͉͙͈̦͕̗͍̩̯̑̄̏ṛ̸͕̜̔̑̅̃͐͊͜o̴̥̭̟̝̔͜u̷̙̅̀̽̄̈́g̵̡̟̬͙̘̙̘̏̋͌̑̚h̵̰̘̦͔͖̥͈̹͕̗̽́́̆t̴͐̈͘͜ ̷̡̧̨̖̣̘͍̪̙̦͛̚̕t̶̮̙͙̘̼̎̉̅̅͐͝ó̸̘̞̰͉̆̾̈́̍̽͑̍ ̵̧̧̪͈̼̄̾͂̈́͐̈́m̸̪͇̣̱͎̦̖̩̺̹̐́̆̓́̄͒͊e̵̪̯̦̘̟̹̟̮͈̟͂͆͗͝.̷̺̫̂̚

Your heart stopped and you gasped, choking on your fear. You kept your eyes shut tightly. You wanted to cry. Every inch of you screaming for your fight or flight response. The voice was as if its source was inside your own mind. Vibrating through you. 

"Yes sir," Timothy spoke calmly. 

There was a long pause, you breathed heavily. Forced to listen to the violent disharmony of echos in your head.

İ̷̳̰̼͙̰ ̷̢̣͕̙̖̉͒̀̂̒̎͘͜ͅs̷̨̧̡̪̼̬̳̔m̶̝̠̒̐͆̏̓́͝͠ḛ̶͕̮͇͔̘̰̓̃̔͂͜l̴̜͉̫̭̺̎͠ļ̴͈̖̉̊̾͐̾̚ ̶̥̲͂̊̍͐d̷̨̧̻͈͓̳̖̙̳̘̆͊̈́̉͛̚͝͠͝e̴̤̩̟̤͎̗͉͌̐̏͘ͅͅa̷̺̰̦̅͋̽͂̋͑̍̐̇t̵̼̩̣͕̲͗̈́h̸̺͊͗̃̿̋̋͝ ̷̳̘̣͉͎͉̈́̋͆̌͗͑̚͜͝͝o̴͖̥͚̪͛̀̈́̈́͐͑̈́n̷̹̥̹̅͛̓̿͐̎͝ͅ ̶̙͈͗h̵̖͍̘̘̥͉́̓̐̇̿̂̔̇̈́̄e̵̯̣̙̰͉̰̥̱̜̩̓̉̅r̸̻͈̭̰̥̖̮͈͎̬͘.̷͇̥̰̹͕͉̐̓ͅ ̵̮̻̈͗̇̾̎̒͒͘ ̴̦̿̒̽̋͛̽I̵̢̱͂̿̊̈́̔̂͠͝ ̶̠͓̦̖̙͌ͅs̶̠͉̱̰̼̲̿͑͝ͅè̶̛̺̐͂͑̽͝͝ȅ̸̢̩̱͔̥̤̹͈̐͆͌͊̈̂̕ͅ ̶̱̉͠ẁ̵̢̧̯̰̝̞̍̇͜͠h̶̡̛̬̤̠̪̘͉̜̞̬̃̈͆̑̋̚͘ÿ̶͉́͂͊̽̐͘͝ ̵͕̗̫̺̥̇͒̃͂̓s̶͔̦͊̋̋ḥ̴̢̠͎̝͓͓̝͆e̶̹͎͍̼͛̆̑͊͐͛̆̚̚͠ ̶̺̟̯̦͖̫̠̰̏̒͌͋͐͑̈͘͝ͅc̶̮̬͆̋̂͗͠ͅo̷̙͇̺̓ͅͅu̸̢̨̟̮͖͓̰̩̖̓̏͊̂̑̒̿͐̓͝l̴̜̝͔̣̣̏̃̌̉̄̈́̈́̽̕ḍ̷̢̺͇͒́̅̀̂͜ ̶͉̲͇͔̮̱̣͐̎̎̃̌͜h̶̢͇̮̝̼̝̟͊̃̾͆a̸̧̭̔v̶̛̛̤̼̯̳̯̱̰͇͊͐̆̚͘ͅe̶̲̣̲͓̞̮̱͋͂̃̑͆͜͜ͅ ̶̢̣̤̳̱̪̲̽̌̄͊͋͛̋p̵̛̝̗͖͂̾̂͐̈̄̌̿̍ȯ̸͉̦̗͈̭̹̖̽̏͘̕ţ̵̫̭̜̩͉̅͐̈͋ȩ̷̳̣̹̦̔͒̅̈́̈́̅̀̓ͅͅn̷̘̐̒̒̒̎t̷̛̰̲̳͊͗͂i̶̧̦̦̩͙̝͊̾͜͝ͅͅa̴̯͙̬̺̮̹̠͊̉̈́͗͘ļ̸͉͚̝̯̪͈̗̒̅͋̿̂̋͝.̵̧͕̫̝̜̲̣͈̦̫̽̏͗͝

How...? How could he know? 

How could he know what she has done?

I̷̦̗̪̪̣̳̼̼̣̺̎͐̄̈́̕͘͘͝ ̴̡̪̼̩͈͉̤̝̆͛̍̎͂̽̂̐̅̌k̸̢̮̻̙͔̠̤̽̽͘͜͜͝͝͝ͅṋ̴̢͈̞͎͕̜͈͈̎͜͝o̶̧͇̖͓͖̥̙ͅw̶͚̗̫̼̟͚̎͂̒̑̈ ̷͓̖̩͕̥̀̍ͅͅe̷̞̖͎͙̥͙̣̝̿̿̄̄͋̑̉̈́v̸̙̝̻͓̪̭̗͚̹͌̈́̈́͋͝ȩ̶͚͇͓̊͗́ṛ̸͎̩̮̠̻̑͗͑y̴̳̬̟͠t̷̟̥͌̒̾̌̒̋͘͠͝h̷̼̲̺̩̗̱̫͔̪̓ī̶̧̢͙̭̞͈̑̾n̷̡̯̩͈̟̘͖͓̄̄̄̀̀͐̌͝ͅg̵̨̫̦̝̰͙̯̅,̶̢̣͇͓̼̬̟̩̄͛́͝ ̵̡̪̟̲̉̃́̐͒̓̔́̌̚c̵̡̛̩̞̤̳̔̊̐̃̍͌̋͜ͅh̵̛̳͗ḯ̸̡̭̘̝̙̫̱̈́̐͋̏̆̈́̋͝ļ̴̛̼̝̺̰̦͗̓̓̑̽ͅd̸̡͍̻̺̭̺͉̫̙͎̆͆͛̌̚͝.̷̛͕͎̼͉̞̱̜͎̄̓̄̈́̑̓͑͘͜ͅ

You wanted to open your eyes in shock. But you could only try to curl yourself up and sob. 

"H-how did you-"

"He hears everything we can't (Y/N). Try to keep your head clear and listen..."

Ṡ̴̹͉̈́̽̉̊̎ḫ̷̟̥̝̃̀̿̋͠ḛ̶̖̱͖́ ̶͈̣͉̜͔̈́͐̋́̿̍̽̇̅͝ṣ̸̡͌͒͌̊t̶̛͕̳̬͇͍̲͕͙̱̅̋͒̑͐̄̈́̎͜i̶̦̣͋̀̇̍͌̂̚l̵̰͎̻͖̭̲͉̦̔̔͑̃̿̓͗ḻ̷̦̞̝̰̈́̑ ̴̥̩̬͚̮̕͠s̵̡̛̪̝͂͒͌̓̍h̵̹̙͔̟̜̰̣̠̊̉̋o̵̪̯͊̈́͠w̵̛͍̯͔̣͌̀̎̀̒s̴̛͙̯͈̯̟̘͎̥͑͗̈́͘̕ͅ ̶̡̹̈́͋͐͒̔̔̌͘͝ͅͅw̶̡̗͉͗̏͒̃̄ȇ̴̛̛̺͕͔̺̿̏͂̋a̷̧͙̳̭̬̾̈k̵̡͙̙̤̘̟̹͕̬̈́̅̈̍̈̿̐̈́̄ṇ̴̗̹̣̈͛͊̉̊̽͛͑͠è̵̛̹͔̌ͅͅs̴͚͉̪͚̺͍͔̠͈͈̍̄̽̍̊̑͝ṣ̷̥̘̉.̴̺̘̻̱̼͒͐͂

"Sir, we can change that. Under my responsibility, I'll be able to-"

Ņ̵̟̯̞̘̿̈̀Ō̵̡̩͈̰̱̝̠̮̿͆̑ͅͅ

You tried to cover your ears, but it didn't block out anything.  
He really was speaking into your head. 

S̶͎̼͂̔̋͗͐̽h̵̠̣͓͆̉̆̿̄͒̿̚͝e̸̖͔̲͈̺͑͐̓ͅ ̴̻̬̼̂͐͒̆͊̍͌͘m̸̫̗̜̞̬͉͍̲͑̾͊̌̍͜͠ư̴̮̑͑̂͗s̵̡̺͚͔̜͉͇̤̠͒̇͊͆̇̃t̶̢̗̱̺̱̘͆̾̊͋̽͝ ̵̘̪̾ư̶̳̭͈̻̲̱͈̂̔͋̈́̏̉̽̕̕ņ̷̠͎͔̗̯͉̭̤͂̔̈́̀d̴̢̢̧̥̞̘̦̞̮̞̈́̓ę̶̖̥͙̯͙͔̟̩͗̓̆̾̿̃̓̋̉͑ͅr̷̨͕̗̬̬͍̳͔̫̽̓͘͠g̷͔̘̖̠̙̙͖͍͇̩̋o̸̧̰̓̓̌̅̓̿̕͠͠͠ ̴̬̻̝̼͂a̷̢̢̙̰͎̳͈̞͋́̃͛̄̉͋͑̇͐͜ͅ ̸̨͎͓̩̱̣̓͊t̷̖͉̻̍ṛ̴̮̏̇̈́̊͝͝i̶̢̬̹̩͍̖͉̻̰͛̊̾͝a̶̢͈̰̤͕̬̦̔͋̋̑͛̀̑̉͐l̵̡͓̺̘̟̰͔͉̃̃̀̅̎̚.̴͔̪̰̻͙͉͕͝

Trial?! 

"B-but sir..." Even his voice began to show he was nervous. 

W̶̮̻͌̈̓͆͝h̶̡̡͓̻̘̘̻̏̈́̂ͅǎ̷̰͖̲͕̺̲̳̱̍̈̈́͋͗̕t̸̛̫̬͙̯̯̖͓̳̣͋̈́̍ ̶̧̘̥̬̍͌̋͗̂̚͜b̶̨̟̗̹̄́͝e̴̖̭̪̬̼̠̳̥͊̐͆t̵͐̓̔̈́̿̿͝ͅt̸̲̰͎̬̆̍́̒͠e̵̮̍͊r̸̛̬͇̩̼̫͇͓̐̐̈́̉͘ ̷̛̼̙̟̖̒͘͜p̶̬͕͑͆̒͆̂̈́l̴̻͎̞͇̲̪̗̈́͂̈́̑̚͘a̷͍̝̠͕̘͆͆̓̄̏͋͋͋̆̚c̴̨̳̪̦͚̥̤̪̙̣̓͆̆e̶͙̮͂̊̏̔̀̑̐͠ ̴̯̏̇t̴̢̞̖̖̻̪̭̺͓̻͆͝o̷̯͔̰̜̥͓̝̙̲̯̓̽͒̇͌̚͝ ̸̨̧̜̠͈̤̼̦̰͒͊͛̃͛͒̈́̇͜͝d̴̻̬̫̟͝ơ̵̡̦͌̈́̇̇ ̵̢̧̬̥͚̭̼̖̓͐͐i̷̛̪̟̍̎̈́̇̌t̷̲̜̙͖̄̾̇̈́̌̉̌͑ ̸̘͙̩̌̔̂̉̋͋ͅt̶̨̡̡̲̩̞͕̔̿͝h̵̡̟̺͈̜̲̩͋̓̃͐̒͝͝a̵̡͖̙̳̭̩̟̠̐̓́̾́̑n̵̡̛̹͈̓͑͆͐̑͗ ̷̨̲͉̞͑͂̆h̷͚̹̺͈̙̣̳̝͈̑̃͛͋͆͆͜e̸͔̯̰͉̙͐̋͋͆̅r̷̡̦̖̮̗͕̠̗͔̒̆̍̾̏͝ͅę̸̪̬̺̙̻̙͎͙̈́̿̑̽̒̆.̴̼͙̝͍͌̑͒̊̍͌͂̂͂ͅ ̸̪̽̋͂͂̇̂̌J̴̨̡̢̧͍̦͍̙̲̙͐͑͌ä̷͖͔̳̜̰̪̤̭́̊̏̽͝ͅͅc̷̢͚̭͖͚̗͔̓̓̕k̵̮̹͉̙͍̭̱͖̯͒̔͐̈͊̕͠͝ ̷̮̦̹͓̫̥̮̝̫̆̔̏̆̃̾w̸̼͙̩̥̳̗͉̍̉̀͌̓i̷̛̛͇̣̟͚̗͚̝̎́̒͐̂͘͘͝l̴̙͙̜̳͔̱̞͛l̴̡̼̠͚̱̹͉͕̩͆̓̎̈́̈̅̅ ̶̤͇̹̰͇̝̹͇͈̥̌̊̉̃̒̃r̷̥͈͖̺̟̎̈́̑̍͛̏e̷̠̜̳̱͙̳̫̓͑͘͝ͅt̵̙̠̥̦̱̏͌͆͘ủ̴̠̱̙̉́̈́͗̄̈́̄̕͝ṙ̵̨̨̛̟̝̹̜̊͗̌̿̆̍͂n̸̫̐̿̓̓͌ ̸̩̮̜̦̫̫̍͛ͅs̷̡͖̗̙͚̠̀̐͛̈͘͜͝o̸̖̳͇͈̹̦̠̖͋͒̿̂͗͛̎̈́ơ̷̞̖͚̿̅̐͊͐̆̾͝n̸͖͖̥̽͌̈͌̅̎͋͐͝.̶͇̬̥̣̲̙̜͈̠̜͛́͛̍̇̾

You heard a chair fall, Timothy standing up quickly. 

"That maniac will slaughter her!" He protested. 

You kept hearing about this Jack but knew nothing about him. All you knew is he hunted, dissected, and had some advanced medical knowledge. He kept their business running with organ harvesting.

I̷̧̝̹̼̙̅̍̔f̷̣̅̈́̄͠ ̵̨̠̤̻͔̙̌̀̓̉͜͝s̶̯͊̽̓̊͝ḧ̷̢̧̨̛͉̙͔̪̓͊e̸͈͆̓̆̒̆̽̊͘͠ ̷̝̒̂͒̌̿̆͘͜c̵̤̰̠͕̓a̶̢̗̪̐ň̸̡̛͎̹͓̪̹̯͇͔͚̆̔̄͘ ̴̠͈̘͖̙͎͈͙͋͆͒̆̆͗̒̎́͂s̵̹̝̫̘̿̿ṳ̶̯͋̆̕̚͜͝͠r̵̛̖͕̣͙͈̠̹͓͜v̵͍̾̄̈̓̚̚i̶̫̚v̸̱̟̹̇̏̒͛̏͌̏͝͝ẹ̵̢̋͂̄ ̵̤̥̭͇͎͎̘͙̟͎̇̐̿̚͠J̶̲̲̍̃̏a̷͈̭̟̥͐c̴̛̟͕̯͊̒͋̕͝k̴̛̳̬̞͓͓̟̪̭͌̍͘,̴̥̖͖̮͓̝̱̙̤͖̒̾̄̔̌̈́͌̚ ̸̡̧̗͓̱̯͐͌͊̇̃͋̆t̷̖̼̏́h̴̤͕͋͊̑̏͊̾̅́̍ē̶̡̩̰̦͕͚̅͛͊́̎̊͘̚͠ņ̵̨̛̤̝̭̣͕͋̃̌̀͗̊̊̀ ̷̣̹͖̒s̷̳̯̣̲̈͝ḧ̶̡̛̘̟͎͙́̈́̒̅̇̂e̸͖̻͎̱͎͓̗̻̐̓̈́̾̔̊̋͒̿̕͜ ̷͍̎̑̋͗̊̔͊̊c̵̘͖͙̟̦͎̓ä̵̤̯̘̀͐̑͋͊̾̑͠͠n̸̜̦̍͂̐̑̕ ̷̢͎̥͔̼͙͉̣̹̣̊̊̆̋̒s̸̨͓͇̻̝̳̲̽̃̍̆̕ṵ̴̤̋̈͗̈́̈́̈́̚ͅr̴̥̿͛v̷̛̫͈̖̏̂̓̒̅̑̈́į̵̪̻̤͖͖͗͠v̷̱̤͍̪̈́̎͑̉̉͐̐͐̔̋ę̸̢̛̭̪̣͇͎̮͓͂̿͂̐͒̈́ ̴̧͕̮̥̈́̐͌̓̓̈́͌͝ȃ̸͇̗̳̙̜͓̇̅͗̕͠s̸̟̞̻̱̬̀̎̈̐͌͛̈́͘̚͝ ̷̭̤̙̪̯̹̠͈̝̝͗̌̄͐̾̔͂͌͌̍a̴̢͕̖̯̪͌̄̓̄̆̂͂̔ ̷̨̢͔̪͉͉̦̈̾̑̍̎͜p̶͓̰̌r̵̖̳̘͋͝ͅo̸̧͚̻͗͒̋̈́̑x̸͇̜̮̪̱͔͌̇ỹ̶͈͔̾͛̈́.̸͈͙͎̥̖̲̻͈͔͠ ̶̹̦̗̻̟͙͇̄̈̔̑̃͒̊̕

̵͔̣͔̦̰̣͌̽̽͆̾͒̔͒̏

̸̢̯̱̦͍̮̣̱̜͙͌̃͊̇͗̐́͐͑Ḯ̶̮͆t̵̥̘̙̣̠͉̿̆̈́͑̐ş̸̗͈̭̂̋̓͐͒̂̋͜ ̶̢͈̟̌̈́ť̶̨̟̥̳̘̯́h̷̺̠̽̿̊͒̌̅e̸̡̩̱̯̟̱̭̒̓̋́̂͂̿͌̽̿͜ ̴̢̥̥̫͕̭͙͓͕̄ͅo̷̜̣͇̗̘̯͛̄̂͑̅̏n̷̡̡̨̨̦̱͉̗̰͔͌̈́͘l̶̢̻͖̠͖̍̅̿͋̈́̓̏̊͆͜͠ý̶̧͓̭̝͔͌̀̀ ̷̻͓͖͎̱͚̥͛c̷̲̒ḩ̴̨̛͑̋̽̐̉a̵̛̱̞̣̲͋͛̈́͗͝ͅń̷̰̋͒́̓̇̓͌͝c̵͙̞͈̺̥̊̍͂̌̔͆͗͝͝͝e̷͚̗̬̍̔͋̋̽͗͘͠͝ ̷̮͔̣͕̌̍̈́̓̈́̈́I̵͕̦̰͒͌̓̌͗̓͊̃ ̴̯̦̟͕̝̮̿̈́̈̒̀͘w̴̤̞̥̲̯̠̙̭͙͔̋͌i̴͔̘͎̭̣̹̙̺͂̀̈́͆̽̀̉̊͛ͅl̷̻̪̳͇͕͙̉͝l̷̟͔̼̪̕ ̵̖͚̞̾̓̔̔͛͝g̷̨̧͙̯̳͈̖͒̈̈̌͑̽͝ͅḯ̷̛̪͔̭̏͂͑̕̕v̵͔̪͉̉̎̋̑̂͜ḙ̷̢̻͚̠̌̒ ̴̛͍̂̒̅̽̋̒̉̚͝ĥ̴̡̨̡͎͖̰̝̯̝͔͛̀͐̅̑̓̚ȩ̷̣̱̘͓͚̄̍͂̈́r̵̥̤͈͖͉̅̋.̶̳̠̰̖̅́̉̌͆̐͆͆̂̕͜

There was another long pause. You could only shake in your fragile skin and wait for it to be over. 

"Okay... Th-thank you sir." 

Again the rumbling picked up, along with the painful white noise and echoed voices.  
Then like a caesura, hell's choir stopped. 

The Tv clicked, and your ears rang harshly from the sudden absence of noise. 

"You can open your eyes now (Y/N)." 

You opened your heavy eyes and tears slipped out once trapped behind your eyelids. 

"What the fuck..." You whispered softly, wiping your face and telling your body to come back to reality. 

Timothy finally took off his mask, slipping it into his bag and combing back his brown hair with his hand. Then pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing again. 

"I'm so sorry I got you into this... I didn't think it would happen this way."

The other two men had made their way into the kitchen by now, mumbling about a hidden booze locker. Toby slipping off his goggles to get more comfortable. 

"What were you initially planning Tim..?" You said slowly, now only your hands shaking. 

He looked at you apologetically. "I wanted to just keep you here until I could find of new property to keep you at." He zipped up his bag and slung it over his shoulder standing again. You followed his movements and got to your feet as well. 

"But I should have known better... The old man senses everyone that steps foot in his forest." 

His forest. His properties. Yeah, that wasn't good. Considering you now had an inkling of an idea what the landlord was capable of. 

"So, now what? This trial?? What's that all about." 

He rested his gloved hands on your shoulders and looked into your eyes. 

"It's all out of my control now (Y/N)... I'm sorry. This trial I'm hoping won't be as bad as anticipated. Jack is rather calm, most of the time. 

"Okay well is anyone gonna tell who the fuck Jack is?!" 

Toby and Brian glanced at you for a moment, Toby's brown eyes expressionless.

"J-jack.. well, " Tomthy trailed off for a second. "He's not a.. completely pleasant person. Well, he's not really a person at all." 

You scoffed, that wasn't helping. "You said he was a maniac. I'm not staying here alone with a maniac."

"Let's face it (Y/N), all of us are maniacs." He gestured to the two behind him, now invading your small food supply. "I'm one, you're one. It's not like you haven't done things I have done before." 

He shook his head. "Jack really isn't the worst of us. I-I'm sure if you stay out of his way, and wait out the trial you'll be okay. You're strong (Y/N) I know you are, its why I brought you here." 

You wanted to believe him, but something dreadful was eating away at your body. You wanted to collapse. 

He hugged you tightly, trying to stop your shaking. "We'll make sure Jack is informed. Just stay safe, I'll be on the operator line if you need me." 

"You have to leave?" You wanted to plead for him to stay. 

"We have to, we've been ordered to return to the mansion." 

As Brian and Toby had already headed out the door, Timothy trailed behind hesitant to leave.

He gave you a weak smile, "I'll be in touch."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long. If you cannot read the font I used please comment and let me know. Also, your comments mean the world to me! I take critiques to heart. The next chapter is in the making right now.


	3. Greetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Little delayed on posting this chapter but thank you for the kudos! I currently have roughly 7 drafts at work for this story.  
> I would also like to note that I have a habit of sometimes being 'too descriptive'  
> I made this chapter to be a fast pace scene but I wrote it almost like it's in slow-motion. When I create an image in my head I like to make sure it's properly illustrated.  
> I hope you stay tuned in to my work <3

It shifted upon the bed slowly, dipping into the mattress as it crawled. Like a lion stalking prey. It hovered close over your still body, breathing shallow to eliminate noise. 

You felt it move, the springs aching beneath you, yet it didn't pull you from dead sleep. 

It moved carefully, shifting into a position in order to hold you properly.

It was only until his hot breath skims across your face did the survival instincts awaken again. But no amount of your own strength or quickness could stop the force of his hands slamming down over your throat. 

Gasping cut short as oxygen is trapped in your lungs with no way out again. Eyes focused on a deep blue color painted upon smoothed wood and two round, black sockets. 

"What the fuck are you doing in my house?" 

This grizzly voice made a frigid chill crawl up your spine. You choked again for air, trying to answer him. But only gagging in response.  
You could feel every muscle, every bit of his power in his body radiating from his large cold hands.  
His grip was vice-like, death-bringing. You could feel thick nails burrow into your delicate skin. 

His mask, his voice, his freezing cold hands... 

"J-Jack." You wheezed under his grasp. 

His hands lifted from your throat to let you breathe again, sucking in long-needed oxygen into your burning lungs.

His nails instead dug deeply into your wrists, His knees weighing down on your legs. 

He growled a deep animalistic growl echoed by his mask. 

"HOW DO YOU KNOW MY NAME!?" 

Words tried to come out but got stuck in your throat and strangled you, you kept gasping, trying to shake your body into its natural responses. 

The only thing you could think of was getting him off of you. 

"ANSWER ME OR I'LL RIP YOU APART!" 

He shook your body hard, rattling your brain. He wasn't giving you a chance, so you weren't giving him one either.

Throwing your head back you brought it down on his own head. A loud 'crack' indicating you were able to hit him even beneath his mask. 

He staggered, shifting his weight and allowing you to free your legs and with as much force as your body could muster you kicked his chest with both feet. Sending him back down onto the floor. He growled again, louder this time.  
His noises, his voice... He really wasn't human.

Throwing off the covers you rolled to the other side of the bed, letting yourself fall to the floor before crawling to your feet in a full sprint. 

No windows to go through, no way to navigate the forest.

You could hear a roar that rippled through the rooms, he was some kind of creature. You barely could get a proper look at him as you looped down the stairs. Tearing through to the living room and to the back door. Swinging it open the light pierced through your vision and resulting in you trying to shield the sun with your arms. 

It was midday now. The sun would be up for hours. 

The sound of his heavy footsteps stomping rapidly down the stairs sent your nerves flying and you threw yourself out the door. 

Instantly sharp rocks cut through your bare feet but it didn't stop you even for a moment. If you could get away from him, lose him just to catch your breath you could figure a plan to find one of the other locations. Find Timothy.

With adrenaline and stamina, you managed to get a small distance away from the cabin until something threw your legs back underneath you. Hurling you to the ground. 

You managed to prevent your head from smacking forward into a rock and attempted to lift yourself up again but the gripping feeling on your legs pulled you back. 

You started to scream with all the space in your lungs. Thinking he had caught up and grabbed you. 

Clawing at the grounds you tried to stop him from pulling you away but the strength was something you had never experienced before. 

You threw you head behind you, ready to scream and aim to kick at him but there was no one.  
No one had a hold of you. 

Something was dragging you that you couldn't see. 

Screaming again your heart lurched into your throat when you saw this invisible force was dragging you right back to him.  
His dark masked figure standing in the doorway, waiting. 

You couldn't move either of your legs to kick so instead you thrashed your body and arms to wiggle yourself free. 

The tremendous force pulled back both your arms. Bringing you even closer to the back door.  
With your whole body encased in some kind of unseen grasp, you released one finally wail of panic. 

"TIMOTHY FUCKING HELP ME!!"

You could hear Jack laughing at you quietly, mocking you. 

It dragged you right into the living room. Lugging your body across the hardwood before it suddenly released you. 

Jack stood over you. And from the corner of your vision, the door slammed on its own. 

"You can't leave. He won't let you." 

This is what they meant... this was the trial. 

You weren't allowed to escape. You could only find a way to survive.

You had no more screams left in your aching lungs. Your responses in shock from the paranormal experience that overtook your entire mobility. Too frightened to move. 

Jack crouched over you, holding a dangerously sharp blade to the center of your throat. 

"You're stuck here with me you little rat." He spat at you through his mask. 

With his free hand, he gripped your scalp, grabbing a big chunk of your hair and pulling your body upward to him. You winched and yelped at his rough touch, feeling his claws underneath your skin once again. 

He wreaked of blood. 

You tried to kick at his feet or beat his hands to release his grasp but he only grew more aggravated. 

He threw your body down again, the grip on your head unmoving, your spine scraping against the wood painfully. 

He was lugging your body toward the old bathroom. You clawed deep into his skin, being sure to inflict as much damage as you could but in seconds he had you against the bathroom tiles. He growled loudly, withdrawing his hand from your scalp quickly, leaving your head to smack down on the porcelain.  
You wished you had cleaned this room when you had the chance. 

For a second you felt your own hot blood pool to the back of your skull to aid in the rapidly forming bruise. Your vision faded in and out, but your willpower refused to let your slip under when your body feared for its wellbeing. 

He stood above you, pressing his boot to your chest to keep you down. 

"You are going to answer all of my questions. You are going to stop running. And you are going to stay still." 

Something cold dripped across your cheek, falling slowly.  
It wasn't a tear. Its consistency was thick like blood. 

Another drop fell again, this time you watched it fall from the gaping black holes of his mask. 

Something black. 

At this point, with your body shaking and your head throbbing you could only do as he said and stay still. Wait for the next opportunity to move again. 

He wanted answers right? He couldn't kill you till he got them. At least you hoped that would be his logic. 

He gripped your cheek, pulling you up closer to his face. You felt his claws again, they were long sharp and black. 

You got a better look at him under the light. 

Choppy aburn hair poking behind his mask and hood. You could smell his breath behind his mask as he panted. 

His skin... his skin was a deep ash color. 

Not human.  
Not human. 

You should have taken the subtle warning Timothy gave you literally. 

He positioned his blade to your throat again.

"How did you get here?" He began, his voice a low rumble, threatening.

Your voice was hoarse from the screaming, throat unfathomably dry. Licking your chapped lips you rasped out your response. 

"Timothy... He told me to come here."

He scoffed. "Fucking snob. Thinks he can do what he pleases... This is MY PROPERTY!" 

You sucked in a breath, trying to keep your body calm. 

"Why you?" He demanded. 

You couldn't tell him. You couldn't bring yourself to relive every second of the things you had done. 

"Th-the trial." 

He chuckled and pulled the blade away from your throat. "Really.."

"So the big man gave me an opportunity." His laugh grew louder, maniacal. 

He still towered over you, lifting his boot off your chest and letting your lungs expand fully. 

As the instant of free movement came you attempted to lift your body crawl away quickly from him. But as his response, he slammed his knee into your face. throwing you back again and darkening your vision. 

This time focusing your eyes was not as easy. You could see only through a pinhole in a black tunnel. Your face searing with pain. 

His hand reached for your hair. Pulling at your sore scalp and dragging you into the filthy shower stall. 

He changed his grip over to your throat tightening down on your esophagus. 

With his other hand, he turned the handle to the far right. Scalding hot water showering down on your face and restricting your breath more. You gasp instinctively, only swallowing the boiling water into your lungs. You squirmed, beating your fists against his chest and masked face. His hood fell, his wild choppy hair exposed. 

He didn't flinch or loosen his grip on you. He kept you directly under the water. Soaking himself in the process. His hair dripping under the steaming water. 

He was drowning you. 

You didn't want to give up, you didn't want to stop fighting him. Punching and kicking with all of your might. 

Your lungs were trapped, your brain screaming at them to feed it oxygen. Every time you opened your mouth it brought your body further into demise. 

Your brain could no longer supply oxygen to your blood, taking effect first in your limbs. 

Your feet felt frozen, growing weak you couldn't bring your muscles to kick anymore. Then your hands couldn't ball into fists anymore. Your punches slowing into pleading grasps at his hoodie. 

Just as you thought there could be no hope for you, he threw your weight into the side of the stall. Smacking your head yet again against the tiles. And finally, pulled away from your throat. 

Sharply you wheezed, your lungs rasping and forcing the water back up through your esophagus. Vomiting still hot water and bile. You focused on returning air to your lungs.  
Blood rushed back to your limbs. Tickling your skin uncomfortably. 

Jack didn't move, he instead watched you silently. Watched you writhe in pain as you returned to the world. Dizzy and disorientated, weakened by his power.

He relished every moment of it. Letting the water run over you and washing away stray blood from areas on your skin, your scalp, your nose. 

You didn't stand a chance like this, he had already beaten the hell out of you, and intended to do more. 

But why didn't he kill you? He had the chance. 

"I'm going to break you..." He spoke again, quietly. Tilting his head at you. 

Your bloodshot eyes didn't break his gaze. 

You always believed in the power of looking your murderer in the eyes. So they could never forget you. A myth long told to you years ago. 

If this was really a death sentence for you... Then you would make sure you wouldn't be just another victim of his many.  
You wanted him to remember your face. 

His soaked aburn hair dripping over you. His breath heavy, amplified by the mask

You wanted to rip it off his fucking face. 

The black fluid began to drip again, hitting the wet tiles silently. This time it caught his attention. 

Drawing his hands to his face, he brushed his fingertips along the holes of his mask, smudging the black secretion on the deep blue paint. 

"Dammit..." He exhaled. Stepping back for a moment before returning his gaze on you and pointed his clawed finger at you. 

"Move from this spot and I'll cave your skull in this time." 

So. This was Jack. 

The 'not-so-bad' Jack. 

What you could hardly believe is that Timothy mentioned that he wasn't even the worst of them. 

Your mind brought you back to the knife. Your hunting knife. If Jack hadn't taken it, then it should still be in the kitchen where you had left it. 

Turning his back, quickly you heard his heavy footsteps navigate through the house. His boots landing upon the ever aching steps to the upper floor. 

Testing your weight on your limbs again. You assured yourself that your body regained all its circuitry, and decided to throw yourself upright again. Letting the sore pads of your feet take your weight and allowing you to run again. 

Running out of the house again wasn't a choice. It would only make it easy for him to grab you again. So your logical option was to find something to defend yourself. 

You reached the kitchen, dangerously close to the staircase. You tried to keep your feet landing softly to prevent any noises the old floor might make. 

Getting into the drawer in the kitchen though was not a silent task. It rattled as you opened it, you flinched, knowing well Jack could have heard that. 

And he did. You heard a crash of some sort, glass breaking. Then very fast, heavy footsteps. 

You grabbed your knife. A strong, stainless steel four-inch blade. 

Your hands were shaking violently as you tried to grip the handle of the knife as tight as you could. Do not think. Just move. 

He already reached the bottom of the steps by the time you had turned around to face him. He was locked on you lunging at you with his own blade in hand. 

Before you could raise your own weapon, you tried to deflect his swinging with your arm.  
The small blade gashed your forearm open deeply. Severing skin effortlessly. But for this instance of adrenaline, you were numbed to it. You knew you were bleeding rapidly. 

As he was raising his tool to swing again you used your whole body to thrust the knife hilt deep into his gut. 

He let out an audible yelp like an animal and dropped his blade on the kitchen tiles. Not like dogs yelp, more like a shortened predatory scream. 

You let go of the handle, the knife embedded. Beginning to move, your adrenaline not failing your body, he threw his own body forward pinning you against the counter. You felt the hilt of the blade pressing against your ribs and a warm sensation of what you assumed was his blood.

Jack was tall and very heavy against you. Even closer he smelled horrific, he smelled of blood and death. You were so close your face was buried into his stained black hoodie. 

It was almost like he was hugging you. You didn't know how to react but could only try to push him away again.

He pressed his masked face to the side of your head, you could hear his labored breathing. 

"What a good little fighter~" He purred.

With his body holding you in place, he took both his hands upon either side of your head and threw your skull back onto the metal knob of the cabinet behind you. 

No longer could your brain take more trauma. Your consciousness left you, shrouding you in black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one asked but here is a small playlist of songs I listen to to get my creative flow going.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlzRMQhx73qP6Tf2nKt6oinfWFNnwCYs9  
> I add to it every so often


	4. Captive State

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my loves, I know its been a couple months since my last update and I apologize. Life has changed for me since the pandemic, I hope you all are staying safe and healthy out there.   
> I should get back into a regular schedule soon and update more swiftly in the future. 
> 
> Next chapter is in the works, hope you enjoy <3

Coming back only brought a deep throbbing pressure in your temples. Instinctively you went to rub at your head. Your finger massaging the tender skin deeply.   
You moaned as it eased some of the pain. It didn't stop the pulse in your brain. And your throat... It hurt to swallow, mouth painfully dry. Your esophagus bruised from the strangling.

When you opened your heavy eyes you were met with darkness. Blinking a few times, it took a long while for your vision to adjust and take in shapes in the dark. Your heart rate was slow, the feeling beneath you cushioned and soft. A folded futon bed. 

You reached your arm out to grasp at the shadowed form of some objects above you. Your fingertips grazed soft fabric, clothing.   
You were in a closet. And as you recall the only closet with this much space was the closet in the master bedroom. 

Jacks bedroom. 

When reaching your other arm out your breath caught in your throat from the sudden sharp pain through your forearm. You touched it gently only to come in contact with what felt like rough canvas-like material. The wound was cleaned and dressed.   
Your breath was shallow, sleep like. Body exhausted from having exerted so much energy. You could panic and alert him. Or stay in this semi-safe space of comfort and let your body rest until he came for you again. 

But why are you in here? Why did he bother? 

Unconcious he would have done anything to you without you knowing. You checked yourself, still wearing the same loose clothing you slept in before he intruded. But he took the time to fix the opening in your arm that he caused. Maybe he still needs you, you could only think. 

You didn't want to move, you wanted to sleep again. But the tiny voice in your head wouldn't give you any false hope. You were still in danger. 

A part of you was livid with Timothy. But you could only blame yourself for what you have done.

Maybe this is your punishment. Maybe you deserved this...  
This was karma returning the pain you've inflicted. You could only predict more to come.

Your heart picked up at the sound of his boots falling upon the floor again as he walked. He had been walking for some time, pacing around the ground floor. A gentle hum of some muffled voice on the television. 

It took some time for you to recall every detail again, the dull feeling in the back of your head made your thoughts fuzzy. You stabbed him, very deeply.   
Certainly, you had protruded an organ with the length of the knife and the placement in where you had stabbed. 

But he was still walking, and perfectly normal as well as you could hear, no hobbling. No sound of a struggle within his steps. 

What the fuck was he..

You became so uncomfortable with thirst you were desperate to crawl to the bathroom sink across the hall. But logically, you couldn't help but think it might be your safest bet to do what he wants to the extent of prolonging your death.

Using your uninjured arm you first propped it underneath you and leaned on it, pushing yourself upward. Sitting up on bent knees to elevate the rest of your body to a crawling position. Something rattled against your ankle, making you flinch as your eardrums were noise sensitive.

You knew Jack had heard it too, and your heart began to spike again. In the dark you inspected yourself again, this time focusing on a thick leather cuff fastened around your ankle over your black socks. Attached to the cuff was a small metal chain falling heavy around your futon. You pulled the chain and it rattled again stopping behind you. Turning around you noticed it attached to an eyebolt drilled into the wooden floor. 

"Fuck.." you breathed, letting the chain fall. 

By then Jack was up the stairs, he wasn't in a hurry, no rush of his footsteps. Just agonizingly slow like largo on a metronome. 

Hurridly you grasped the knob of the closet door fumbling with it. Pushing and pulling did nothing. What kind of closet locks? There were few doors that could lock in the cabin, none of which were closets. 

The door of the bedroom creaked open loudly and you could do nothing but wait for him, you started to breath heavy again despite the burning pain of your respiratory organs. 

You heard a scrape of metal fitting into place followed by a click. 

When the door opened you couldn't help but avert your eyes. The light was dim but still stung behind your irises.

He stood over you, blocking your only way out and cornering you as you scooted back to the wall of the closet. You covered your head with your arms in any preparation to shield yourself from his blows. But he didn't move for a long moment. Only stared down at you through the deep hollow craters of his mask. 

"How do you feel?" Jack spoke lowly. 

His voice had changed, you almost didn't recognize it as his. It was a calm, deep tone. Not a rampaging roar. You glanced just to see if he was the same person in that bizarre attire. 

It was him, his hood down over his shoulders. His black hoodie had its sleeves rolled up this time, showing off his gray flesh. There was a hole angled on the right side of his hoodie pocket from the knife. You couldn't see any blood with the light casting his shadow over you.

You didn't respond, it took enough will power to look at that blue face. 

"How. Do. You. Feel." He said slower, his voice slightly irritant. 

You coughed roughly, your lungs wheezing. You gasped trying to get your voice box to work again.   
"Thirsty..." You rasped weakly, the word breaking to silence toward the end. You could hardly raise it above a whisper. 

He stepped back once then paused to keep his surveying gaze on you. 

"Stay." He demanded. 

He walked out of view, leaving the room briefly. You attempted to peek your head out to get a better took but the chain attached to your ankle restricted you from bringing your head more than roughly a foot out of the door. 

It wasn't enough to see outside of the room. Your body was too tired to pull against the chains, so you fell back into the futon. 

The screech of old pipes could be heard from the bathroom as the faucet spat out water. Jack filled a tall plastic cup with tap water then turned it off again. He brought it across the hall back into the bedroom. You hadn't moved as he demanded, knowing your own defeat and not struggling with the chain. 

You didn't look up at him. He crouched down to your level and pulled the cup away just out of your reach.   
The mask was dangerously close to you, you continued to avert your gaze from it. 

"Fucking look at me." He snarled.

There wasn't any benefit to resisting his demands. Turning your eyes back you stared directly into the deep black eyes of his mask. You tried to search behind them, find his own eyes. But they were as black as black can get. Maybe they were covered. 

You couldn't stop the shudder that tore through your body, but you kept your eyes locked with the mask. You tried your best to keep your expression neutral.

Tilting his head to the side slightly, he handed you the refreshment. 

You were hesitant, turning your sight to his black claws. He could have even drugged the drink. But at this point, the physical need for relief in your throat overcame the red flags you could anticipate.

Hungerly you took the cup and tilted your head back letting the water spill into your throat. You gulped it needily, letting it drip out the corners of your mouth till it was empty. You gasped and groaned, feeling your mouth and throat begin to salivate itself again. It didn't taste foul or abnormal. It tasted like one would expect faucet water to taste. 

You were thankful, but still cautious of him. 

He reached his hand out to take the plastic cup back resulting in a small flinch from you. He paused a moment, never breaking the gaze of his black craters to your own (E/C) eyes. He moved again, slower this time to take the cup from your hand. 

"More.. please." You pleaded to him quietly. 

Jack stood and left your sight, saying nothing to you. 

You panted softly, licking moisture from your lips and sighing. Hopefully to return with more refreshment. But now a rattling sound could be heard as he walked. 

When he came to the closet again he was holding another long silver chain, the end of it connected to a belt of similar leather to that of the cuff on your ankle. Your blood ran cold and you started to crawl back away from him again, deeper into the closet. You shook your head, your voice still hoarse. You tried to speak out an audible "No." but you could only choke on your own air, making it no more than a squeak. 

Jack followed your movements, stepping over your legs to keep the distance close. You covered your head with your arms, trying to twist your body around as he reached for you again.   
He moved very carefully as if to make his movements less threatening. But the chain was enough to insinuate a threat to your safety.

First, he tried to grab at your cheek gently, but you batted his hands away as best you could. Then he grabbed your hair, trying not to pull on your sore scalp this time. You only cried 'no' quietly and tried to keep his hands off you. 

This was becoming very annoying to Jack, he growled a low guttural warning sound from his throat. 

"If you fucking fight me I'll beat your head in again. Harder this time."

His warning only sparked more fear into your mind, and you began to cry louder as he began to get more impatient with you. 

Irritated, he pushed you down onto the futon hard, hovering over you on your back. He had the belt opened up ready to be wrapped around your throat as a collar. You didn't like what that could mean. 

Hot tears stained your cheeks, you looked up into the black eyes of the mask. He crouched over you shaking his head at your distress. 

"Calm the fuck down right now and I'll get you more water." Jack finally bargained with you. 

You didn't want to trust his words, his exchange for a collar. The thought of it degraded you, humiliated you. Sniffling, you let your arms fall back in defeat. 

This let him wrap the leather around your throat and fasten it tight enough you couldn't fit your fingers beneath it. You sobbed quietly, staring past his face and up into the ceiling as he fixed your collar. 

"Breathable?" He asked, turning to your face. You didn't respond, you only let the tears from your eyes dry into nothing. 

Instead of waiting for a response or repeating himself, he pulled a small padlock from his hoodie pocket and snapped it shut around the loop of metal that closed the collar. When he was done he then moved to your leg, unlocking the cuff with a small master lock key. It opened and he unraveled the chain from your cuff, shoving it aside. But the leather wrapped around your ankle remained. 

He stood again, looking down at you with the collars chain in his hand. With one swift movement of his hand, he jerked you forward to a sitting up position. 

"Good girl." He sighed lowly, satisfaction in his deep tone. 

Gentle this time he tugged at your collar again, he wanted you to stand. You hadn't even thought of testing your weight yet. Your legs weren't injured as far as you know but it was your balance you were worried about. You were not the only one who was surprised at how many blows to the head you sustained before you fell unconscious. 

You moved slowly, and he let you. Starting by resting on your knees and keeping your head upward then one leg at a time, testing your feet. Blood flow was fine, but you felt uncomfortable and lethargic. You stood straight, stepping off the futon and out of the closet as he lead you. 

Your eyes still stung dully now that you were standing in the light directly. You rubbed your eyes, trying to rub away the pain in your head again. 

"Walk." He demands in a calm tone. You could sense pride in his voice, like watching a dog do tricks. 

You started slow, to be sure that your balance was right and not trip over your own feet. Assuring yourself that your cognitive skills were okay, you followed Jack's pace as he guided you with the chain. He slowed at the stairs, to be sure you wouldn't fall. 

You started to hate how the house felt now that you could picture who lived in it. You hated that you couldn't see the outside. Not knowing whether it was night or day. You didn't even know how long you had been knocked out. Something about this house was unfamiliar to you now. Something has changed in it. 

He led you to the kitchen table and pulled out the wooden chair, it screeched on the tiles as it moved.

"Sit." He said with a hand gesture to the chair. Now you were starting to feel like the dog. 

You slipped yourself in the wooden chair, happy to be off your feet and in resting motion. Trying your best to keep your fuzzy head from spinning out again you rested it in your hands on the table while Jack walked around you, the chain still in his claws. 

You noticed something on your wrist, both of them. The same kind of leather cuffs that you saw around your ankle. When you looked down at your bare feet you noticed there were actually cuffs on each of them as well. You shivered, how could you have not noticed these restraints before??

You checked the seems of the leather, trying to see a thread or a way to open it. 'How the fuck did he get these on me?!' you screamed in your own head, trying to maintain your panic and frustration. 

You heard a tap on the wooden surface in front of you, as you snapped your head back up you saw another tall glass of water. You hadn't even noticed him pour you another drink.  
Hesitantly you brought it to your lips and took more deep gulps, slower this time. When you finished, you set down the empty glass and sighed. 

"So," Jack sighed, leaning over the back of the chair across from you. Seated in the opposite way so his arms rested on the back. "Is there something you would like to talk about?" 

You frowned and shook your head shortly, confused. 

"Dear old Masky had you come here for a reason... Mind telling me what that reason was?"

You grit your teeth, willing yourself not to let your expressions give him any insight. What excuse could you make up just for Jack to leave you alone? You didn't want to relive any of it... you just wanted to find a place to stay safe. 

For a moment you couldn't bring yourself to say anything, what did he want from you? Why did he want to know? 

"What are you talking about..." You were quiet, almost biting your tongue as soon as the words left your mouth. You knew what he was talking about, and of course, he knew that you knew. 

Jack tilted his head a bit, then lifted himself off the chair and stepped over to the kitchen counter. The surface was now littered again with papers and miscellaneous items. He picked up an open manila folder and swiftly tossed it back onto the table in front of you. 

As it landed on the table its contents spilled out reveling documents and photographs. Your breath caught in your throat nearly causing you to choke. 

The first picture that you focused on was a picture of you in a hospital gown. The document paperclipped underneath the photo was a newspaper article-  
(Mass Murder Evidence Leads To Patient Of Local Correction Center: Suspect At Large)

As your body began to quake you heard a threatening growl coming from Jack as he reached his clawed hand to grip at your throat tightly. He brought his masked face dangerously close to you again you could smell the blood on his breath. 

"You really must take me for a fool (Y/N)..."


	5. Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there uh, sorry I've been MIA so long. Been busy and unmotivated due to the monotony of working somewhere I hate. Anyway, enough excuses. I promise that I haven't given up, another chapter should soon follow after this one.

"Now, I'm not criticizing you. I'm actually quite impressed (Y/N)." Jack chuckled behind his mask, vining his fingers through the contents of the file. He had brought his chair closer to you now, almost touching your knees as he reveled at the photographs of bloodlet victims. Contorted in pain, beaten beyond recognition, murdered. 

You couldn't even glance at them, you tried with all your will to twist away from the sight of them. You couldn't do this... you couldn't see them again...

Not again. 

He took note of your squirming and yanked the chain, pulling your head back to face his direction. Choking a sob you could now only squeeze your eyes shut. 

When you did, you felt a hand crash on the side of your face as he hit you. You gasped and cried out letting the tears that had been pooling into your eyes spill. 

"Why so shaken up?" He dug his nails into your numb scalp, holding onto a handful of your hair. Jack got in your face, his voice a low rumble.   
"You won't even look at what you've done?!" 

You did your best to kept your eyes shut tightly, praying this could be over. You couldn't stop the waves of sobs that ripped through your throat. Bringing a searing heat of guilt through every cell of your body.

With his other hand, he gripped your face, digging into your cheekbones painfully with his black claws. To this you gripped his wrist, trying to pry him away.

"Open your FUCKING EYES!!" He roared through gritted teeth then brought his hand down on you again. You took his hit with another gasp and a desperate plea, "Stop!!" 

When he pulled your scalp again you cried louder expecting him to strike you again. But instead, you felt the smooth surface of Jack's mask against your ear.

"You killed eight people (Y/N)(L/N)... That's why you're here." He said in one long breath. 

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!?!" You screamed, pounding fists uselessly against his chest. Finally looking into the holes of his mask. There could be nothing seen in them, no show of emotion, expression. No twinkle of the eye behind them. Demon

He snickered, not flinching at the shrill sound of your screams. "Sweetheart, it's not what I want from you. It's what the boss wants. I'm just here to make sure the job gets done."  
He stood back up quickly, this time yanking the chain down so hard it brought your body forward onto the table. Your collarbone bruising over the hard wooden surface. 

Jack brought his hand onto the back of your neck, holding your face against the surface, your line of sight forcibly fixed the photographs. Displays of black and red upon paled flesh, blurred through a wall of tears. 

"We want to know why (Y/N). Why you killed this many people in one night."

You still struggled to gain composure over your sobs, over your slamming heartbeat. Your tears spilled out and formed a pool underneath your face. Falling apart, your legs shaking violently, uncontrollably.

You didn't even know most of their names.

Trying to shake your head, you blinked away more droplets from your eyes.   
"I don't know..." You barely rasped out. Minded overflowing with murky thoughts, it all became too fragmented. You felt like your heart would rupture, hyperventilating, choking on your own pitiful weeping.

"What was that?" Jack spat, his body looming too close to your back. "You don't know??" 

Releasing his hand from your neck he threw back his arm, holding the chain using all of his force to pull you over. So strong the joints in your necks popped and stretched painfully at the pulling.   
With a swift movement of his boot, he kicked the chair from underneath your body. Forcing you to fall back, the chain leading by your throat. Headfirst, he made your body collapse to the kitchen tiles. 

Suddenly the wind was knocked from your lungs by this, and you let out a silent wail of pain. Your muscles freezing from its hot bite through your core. This danced with the agony of your skull taking yet another uncountable blow from the ceramic floor. 

Then he was on top of you, throwing his leg over your side, straddling your stomach as he leaned over you. Suffocating and violating. Every joint through your spine ached from the pressure of his large, heavy body. It only exasperated the panic need for a steady flow of oxygen in your lungs.

"That answer wasn't good enough." He shook his head in mock, laughing lowly at your distress. 

His black claws traced down your cheeks, to your lips, and down your chin. 

"Now you're going to listen closely to me. This is what is going to happen." He composed his voice again. Almost like he was trying to come off reasonably. Through heavy lids you gave in, looking up at him. Waiting for his directions, pleading in your eyes.  
Not like he cared.

"How you make it out of this house is up to you. But I was put in charge to put you through this, I was chosen to break you down, and peel away your walls piece by piece. Whatever it takes." 

He inched his blue face closer to you, sighing harshly. Tilting your chin up to him with his claw, your throat bobbed against it as you gulped down some more air you thirst for. 

"You can either let whatever happens to you happen. Or you can show me what you're fucking made of." 

You couldn't stop your body from shuddering at the threats in his monstrous voice. His vocals changing into something violent, dark. Then drifting back to his normal tone, then a gravelly whisper,

"Either way, I'm going to break you down. That's the goal."

Jack's claws now drawn over the soft pounding pulse in your throat. Prodding it temptingly, feeling that delicious warm blood hidden behind a shield of skin against his finger. Lifting his head up and taking another long, proud sigh. 

"I'm going to make you as cold as the rest of us, little thing~" 

Finally, he got off of you, still not taking his hand off the chain as he came back to his feet looking over your exhausted form. Desperate to catch your breath and to ease the screams throughout your body. You just lied there, trying to think of all the ways this just couldn't be happening. Praying for mercy, praying he would just lock you up in the closet again. Let you starve to death if it meant he would leave you alone. 

He tilted his head, his hair falling over his masked face. "Don't worry though," He spoke again in a softer voice, watching you as your tears spilled endlessly over your face.   
"I've been strictly forbidden to kill you. I'll at least make an effort of it." 

This brought no comfort, being unable to fathom the amount of torture your in for. Days? Months? Years? Was this now your life? 

Jack pulled again on the chain, your body dragging toward him on the slick tiles. You groaned in pain, gripping the collar to help alleviate some of the tension. You curled into the fetal position, trying to protect your head. 

While your eyes were closed he reached down with his free hand to slip under your arm. You flinched at his touch again but fell limp as his other arm snaked around your torso, lifting it off the ground to drag your sore body from the kitchen into the living room. He never faltered in his actions, like the dead weight was nothing to him. 

When he had you pulled over the victorian carpet he dug his claws into your soft flesh, lifting your shoulders up to the couch. You cried in a distressed squeal, trying to keep your head covered still. Your body wanting to curl into a tight ball and disappear from him. 

He tried to bring you to your feet but the muscles in your calves and knees felt like liquid. 

Jack growled loudly behind his mask, bringing his fist down on the back of your exposed neck then throwing you back onto the couch. You quickly curled into the canvas in a futile attempt to protect yourself. He Brough down his fist again on your side, agony fired through your ribs. Again on your back. Your abdomen. Your head. His loud, angry grunts and growls in between each clobber against your small helpless body. 

You couldn't find a way to keep all your weak spots covered from his relentless hitting. But to him, you knew you were just one big weak spot. 

"Stop!! please!!" You cried again in your broken screams, muffled by the cushion. 

He moved your wrists away from your head and smacked your face hard. You felt something warm spill down from your nose into your lips. Blood sour as copper.

"Then tell me." Jack said flatly, bringing his hand up to batter it down on your face again before you had a chance to take another breath. 

"I told you I-" He cut you off. "Oh, you don't know?! So you just happened to kill eight people on a whim? You just beat them to death in their sleep? You don't know?!?!"

You could feel the heat of his disgusting, bloodied breath through his mask as you fought to keep his hands off you. Pulling your clothes and your hair to hold you still while he beat his fist into everywhere he could.

Your screams and cries falling on deaf ears within the walls of the cabin. 

At this state, you could hardly even think of an excuse to tell him. You really just don't know...   
You never think about it. You couldn't explain in words. How could you get him to stop? 

You could hardly think past just surviving this now. Thrashing about, kicking your feet uncalculated against his body, causing nothing to slow his hammering fists. You knew your flesh turning swollen and bloody in each hit. Numbing and quivering. 

"IdontknowIdontknowIdontknowIdon't-" Was all you could manage to screech. 

He threw his back upright, his fist raised again, one hand clasped over his other. The rage wafted from him like a stench soaked through the skin. Monster

"I TOLD YOU I DON'T KNOW!!!" A final scream in broken breaths, your voice hardly maintaining the last sound of the word. He stopped, his fist frozen in the air. Claws clenching and unclenching around his palm. 

Then it happened again, that strange stream of fluid pooled from the holes in his mask. Noticing this Jack's shoulders rose. 

He brought his arms down, stepping away from you with his head tilt. Watching inky droplets of black fall to the carpet. 

He sighed deep and covered his mask as the black seeped through his fingers profusely. 

Using your legs you pushed yourself further into the couch, choking on your strangled breath. Every inch of you burned. 

"You don't know." He said again, this time in more of a repeated statement than an accusation. Why did he switch like this suddenly?

Slowly Jack realized that the ink was soaking into his clothes. He turned to walk towards the staircase, probably planning to go to his room to fix... whatever was happening to him. 

Before his boots landed at the bottom of the staircase he spoke over his shoulder to you. His claws gripped the railing, black dripping from his knuckles.

"I guess I'll give you some time to think about it." 

Now with both his hands trying to wipe away the black, he stepped heavily upward, making his way to the second level. The wood creaked loudly under him, then slamming shut what you assumed was the bathroom door behind him. 

With an explosion of relief, you turned your face to the cushion and screamed into it. As much as your already stinging lungs could allow. Just to let everything out. Everything he couldn't beat out of you. 

You knew he would torture you every day until he got the answer he wanted.


End file.
